


A Cup of Kindness

by notgrungybitchin



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: F/M, Holidays, Introspection, Missing Scene, New Year's Eve, OTP: until next time, Pre-Relationship, Resolution, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notgrungybitchin/pseuds/notgrungybitchin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On New Year's Eve, Margaret encounters an intriguing party guest from New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cup of Kindness

_"Good news just isn’t the same without it.”_

 

Margaret observed the delicate bubbles dancing up the side of her champagne glass as the words echoed in her head.  She had perfected the art of getting lost in little things. When she needed to escape, she would pick a small aesthetic detail within her surroundings and focus on it. The pointless noise around her would fade away. When alcohol was involved, she could even lose the sense of her own body—depending on how late into the evening it was.

At least the champagne was good for something.

But Margaret had one of those minds that could never really fade away. She stayed sharp under almost any influence. No one could ever tell if she was drunk. And beyond a better ability to drift into her thoughts, she hardly noticed a difference herself. She wished it wasn’t the case. Especially on nights like this.

And she hated that memory for creeping back into her mind. It was enough that she couldn’t spend the entire party far from her husband, giggling with Cornellia over petty gossip. She had to show some face by his side, greeting the obscene number of guests bustling through her house—through  _his_  house--feigning enthusiasm through the mess of names and occupations and connections to him.

She hated hearing them sugar coat him with smarmy praise, she hated his responses. She hated the politicians and financiers, the whole crowd.

She remembered that night years ago, when she had delivered Miss Danzinger’s dress to Babette’s. She was so taken by it. She knew even then it was a game, but she wanted to play. And she did. She remembered how she had so confidently sparred with Senator Edge over women’s suffrage. She knew she was good at it, and it thrilled her. In that moment, she felt she could go far in this world.

Now she only spoke in niceties and feigned enthusiasm.

It was the dawning of a new year, a night for fresh starts. And still the memories of that first year with Enoch kept returning. And with it, pangs of loss for everything she thought she could have achieved.

_“Good news just isn’t the same without it.”_

She took another gulp.

“Well Mr. Thompson, you certainly know how to evoke a certain excess.”

The voice pulled Margaret from her thoughts. It was soft, and different from what she had heard all night. There was no bombastic, political showboating coating every word. She had grown so accustomed to those empty sounds.

And yes, she hadn’t met this man before. The group was unfamiliar.

He was her height exactly, and bright hazel eyes met hers. They fixed on her face for a moment, then darted back to her husband beside her. There was delight and humor in them, and they contrasted with a detached reserve on the rest of his pale face. An amused smile on his closed mouth seemed to be fighting the urge to burst forth at any moment.

Standing next to him were two younger men, lost in their own thoughts and cigarette smoke. One was small and baby-faced, a child in Margaret’s eyes. She wondered when it was she had begun to feel so old. The other was taller, dark haired and staring at the floor. His glazed eyes occasionally glanced sideways towards the boy beside him. He seemed as bored with the proceedings as she was.

“That’s what we do here, Arnold,” Enoch’s voice, coated in the subtle distaste she knew so well, cut through Margaret’s observations.  “Some fun, a little escape. If that’s something you can imagine.”

The man gave a little half smile and looked expectedly towards Margaret.

“This is my wife, Margaret,” said Enoch, returning to his rehearsed, friendlier demeanor. “Margaret, this is Mr. Arnold Rothstein.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Thompson.” Mr. Rothstein nodded at her. Margaret was surprised by how sincerely he seemed to mean it.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Rothstein,” replied Margaret. She had repeated that phrase so many times throughout the evening, and never meant it. Now? Well at least Mr. Rothstein sparked her curiosity.

“And these gentlemen,” Arnold gestured to the young men by his side, “are my associates, Mr. Meyer Lansky, and Mr. Charlie Luciano.”

The small one raised his head with a bright smile and leaned forward politely. “How do you do, Mrs. Thompson?”

“I’m quite fine, thank you.” But this was an amusing pair. The taller one had merely smiled begrudgingly at his introduction and returned to his cigarette. He wasn’t the high society type, Margaret could tell.

“Enjoy the party gentlemen,” Enoch gently touched her arm, guiding Margaret off towards the next batch of introductions.

But she didn’t want to leave this conversation. She planted herself firmly where she stood.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Rothstein? How do you happen to know my husband?”

Margaret could feel Enoch’s surprise beside her. She knew she’d see his narrowed eyes if she turned, but she kept her gaze on Mr. Rothstein.

“Mr. Thompson and I have business out of New York,” he replied. 

Margaret smiled. She’d heard of Arnold Rothstein. She read newspapers thoroughly--she had very little else to do, after all. He wasn’t in them excessively, but enough for Margaret to know the name, and get a sense of the type he was. This wasn’t one of Nucky’s political connections. These men were from that other world.

 _“Margaret.”_  Enoch’s voice was tender but firm. He didn’t seem to think she was doing this intentionally. There were times he held on so desperately to his old illusions about Margaret.

And as ready as she had been moments ago to annoy him, she caught herself. She couldn’t take this too far. It was better, if she kept these little rebellions few and far between. She’d learned by now where she wasn’t welcome, and she had given up trying to force herself in.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Rothstein.” She gave him a weak smile, glanced back at Nucky, and walked away with him. The party was just beginning, and there were many more guests to greet.

 

* * *

 

 

Margaret wavered only a little as she approached the center of the party. But hostess duties were all she could fall back on at the moment. Crushing dejection lingered in her chest, but she was adept at burying those feelings moment to moment. This time it wasn’t working. Dr. Landau's voice echoed in her head; so indignant, horrified, turning her over to Enoch like she was a misbehaving child.

 All because she dared to venture beyond empty niceties. Her ears stung with his patronizing tone as she watched her guests scurry for the chest of jewels like starving rats.

Disgust was a familiar emotion for Margaret, and she couldn’t say if what she felt now was any more intense than usual. She took in the scene, reveled in her loathing for the game. When she finally had enough, she looked away.

And she noticed Mr. Rothstein, standing directly across the fray, flanked by his companions. He appeared to share in her revulsion at the spectacle. They caught each other’s gaze for a moment, and there was something in Rothstein’s eyes that Margaret didn’t expect. Understanding? She wasn’t sure. She could have been seeing things. She shook her head, went for another sip of champagne, and walked quickly from the room.

But the other rooms were stuffy and spinning, and she didn’t want to run into Dr. Landau again. She drifted back to the center of the house. The chest was mostly empty by now, and the crowd had dissipated. There were worthless trinkets, some jewelry and discarded champagne glasses scattered on the floor around it, and Margaret drifted toward the mess.

The space was abandoned, for the moment, and Margaret knelt down, grateful for a moment to herself. She moved her hand across the floor, savoring the sensation of sharp imperfections against her skin, when it alighted on something soft – a pair of gloves. Men’s gloves. They must have fallen from someone’s coat pocket in the rush for souvenirs.

“Why thank you, Mrs. Thompson.” Margaret shot up with a start. Arnold Rothstein was smiling beside her. “I was worried I’d lost those.” Margaret wasn’t sure why, but she felt a nervous need to survey her surroundings and ensure they were alone. And they were. As alone as one can be at a party. Enoch was nowhere to be seen, and Mr. Rothstein was without his companions.

She clutched the gloves. “These are yours?”

He nodded and stretched out his hand. She held on to them.

“You didn’t seem very interested in our little treasure chest,” she said.

 “I took a glance after the crowd dispersed. The theme is appropriate, so I’ll commend you there.”

“How so?”

“Egypt. The downfall of Caesar, and so forth.”

“I think you mean Mark Antony,” she said.

She gave him a smart little smile. “I used to read a bit on the subject.”

He nodded softly. “Well, I’ll admit history isn’t my forte.”

Margaret teased the idea of ending the conversation there, just as she had with every exchange that night. She could walk away before they began to talk about something real. But she felt that odd curiosity again, and she wanted to stay.

“Downfall?” she asked.

“You must know that showboating rarely bodes well for rulers,” he replied.

Well now, this was getting interesting, and Margaret was enjoying herself.

“Am I to assume you mean that as a threat?”

“Still,” those hazel eyes were gleaming again. “I can tell you agree.”

“You’re very observant.”

“It’s how I make my living,” he said.

“Well, I wish I could break into your profession. I’ve had enough practice just watching.”

He laughed softly and took a sip from a teacup. Margaret raised an eyebrow.

“And do you eschew luxuries such that it’s always tea cups on New Year’s Eve?”

“I simply think avoiding alcohol makes the observing easier,” he replied.

“We used to think the same. Or at least I thought something similar.” She glanced down at the glass in her hand. “But things change.”

“Indeed. Yet, champagne doesn’t appear to affect your powers much.”

She beamed at the sound of a word that she hadn’t applied to herself lately.

“And things can always change again, Mrs. Thompson. It’s a new year.”

“I’ve never really believed in that sort of thing,” she said.

“Nor have I. But who knows? It’s been a night of surprises.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Mr. Rothstein’s eyes suddenly narrowed and shot over Margaret’s shoulder. Her stomach dropped as she spun around, certain she would see her husband approaching.

Why should the prospect have worried her? She was merely conversing with guests -- nothing she needed to hide. Yet her momentary comfort with Mr. Rothstein was so unexpected that it almost felt illicit.

But it was merely one of the man’s companions who approached them now -- the taller one. He barely gave Margaret a passing glance.

“We’re meeting soon,” he said.

Mr. Rothstein nodded at the man and walked off, leaving Margaret alone again. She was still holding the gloves. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

It was strange, and somewhat disappointing.  But she never expected anything significant to come of small talk. There was no reason why that conversation should have been any different.

The center of the room was crowding with people again, and the din of their voices shook her from her thoughts. Midnight was approaching, and she needed another drink.

 

* * *

 

 

So the old year died, and Margaret managed to achieve some merriment by the end. She was giddy enough by midnight to forget some of the evening’s frustrations.

She was troubled by the appearance of a small dog in her arms among the whirl of celebration, a gift from a strange and unnerving guest who she hadn’t seen before. But her unease passed quickly enough. The night had been full of strange encounters, after all.

Margaret hovered in the front hall as guests began to wander off into the first morning of 1923. Her husband had vanished again, and Owen as well. They had hurried off, side by side with concerned looks, nearly half an hour ago. Margaret was savoring the brief moments before Enoch’s inevitable reappearance by her side. She was glad to play hostess without him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Thompson.”

She turned towards the familiar voice. Mr. Rothstein was approaching her, with his companions in tow. There were other men trailing along -- some she had met, others she hadn’t. That crowd moved toward the door, but Mr. Rothstein stayed behind.

“They weren’t your gloves, were they?”

He paused, blinked. “You called my bluff.”

Margaret wasn't amused. “You don’t need to fool me into conversation. We could just talk.”

Mr. Rothstein looked slightly uncomfortable, but it passed from his face in an instant.

“I merely saw an opportunity to chat with our gracious hostess.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, of course. Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Rothstein.”

Those bright eyes met hers again, and she could tell he was searching for something to say.

“You’re unexpected, Mrs. Thompson.” He smiled brightly, tipped his hat, and walked out the door, joining his companions in the frozen air.

Margaret stood in the hallway, alone again. She ran her fingers down the stem of her empty champagne glass. She had held onto it all night. She found herself wondering if there were any old newspapers in the house; something that mentioned this Mr. Rothstein and his business. She tried to recall everywhere she had read his name before.

He was part of that world, and she’d held her own with him. She felt like she had at Babette’s years ago, besting those politicians, floating across the dance floor, beaming with pride.

It wouldn’t last. Her husband would return to his host duties by her side, he would confront her about Dr. Landau, about the hospital. The mess would return and she would feel defeat closing in again. But for a moment, the dawning year held some promise. She walked from the hall to find Enoch and Owen, to interrupt their whisperings and announce her presence, to announce that she was still a part of it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely wellthatsood and IconofSelfIndulgence for the brilliant suggestion of the gloves moment.


End file.
